“They were fighting alone?”

“Desperately,” Ned said, his brow knotted.

Our forlorn had several encounters and behaved themselves gallantly, and about 4 of the clock in the afternoon, as soon as the narrowness of the lanes and passages would permit, our Infantry comes up to the relief of our forlorn and to the heat of the battle with an extraordinary cheerfulness.

“At Preston?”

“So it says.”

“Isn’t that a long way south for the Scots to come?” someone asked nervously. “Isn’t that far south? Nearly to Manchester?”

“Yes,” Ned answered dourly. “It’s dangerously far south. We can all thank God that He sent General Cromwell to stop them there. Before they got even closer.”

“He did stop them? It says, for sure, that he did stop them?”

“I’ll read you the rest . . .”

The contention was sore and desperate, some of our men being wounded and the horses slain, for we gained hedge after hedge, which they had strongly manned and one part of the lane after the other with abundance of hazard as well as gallantry—

Ned broke off again. “It sounds as if it was deep lanes and thick hedges, difficult for an army to advance, and the enemy had manned the hedgerows against us. But listen . . .”

The enemy still gave ground, our horses forced them through the Town of Preston and cleared it.

“Preston?” someone asked again.

“Preston,” Ned confirmed.

“God save us!” said one of the women.

Ned read on. “It’s a victory,” he said. “Against great numbers. We pursued them to Warrington and put them to the sword.” His face was shining. “It says here . . .”

Our word at first was Truth, in the middle of the fight, an addition was made Truth and Faith. It was Truth we acted in and it was Faith we acted by.

He raised his head. “I wish to God that I had been there. But just hearing about it makes me closer to the Lord . . . Truth and Faith the watchwords of the battle, General Cromwell in command!”

“Mr. Ferryman, I’ll thank you to take that dirty paper off my table,” Mrs. Miller interrupted him sharply. “And not to make a fool of yourself and spoil the harvest home with war news. And send that dog of yours out of my yard.”

Nothing could wipe the joy from Ned’s face but he took up the paper as he was ordered and told Red: “Go bye. It’s great news for the parliament and the army,” he muttered.

“It’s more news of war, and some of us have had plenty of that,” she overruled him. “Besides, we have guests. And they might not care for your great news.”

Walter flushed and looked awkward, but James Summer was completely bland. “At least, there will be no fighting here,” he said smoothly. “All good men must want peace. Perhaps, Mr. Ferryman, you would read the newspaper in full to those who want to hear after dinner? I should be glad of news myself.”